Second Chances
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: As Bilbo casts a final look back at the Lonely Mountain he reflects on what could, and should, have come to pass.


**A/N This is what happens when I listen to 'Exogenesis Symphony - Redemption' by Muse on repeat. Someone should keep me away from my pen and notebook... I hope you enjoy though :)**

_Disclaimer: I sadly do not own The Hobbit. Or the song that inspired this for that matter. I'd love both though..._

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Bilbo was nothing if not relieved when the time finally arrived for him to begin the long journey home. Already he could imagine the crisp warmth of the fire as he sat alone in his armchair, a good book at the ready and the ring safely tucked away in his pocket should unwanted visitors come knocking. It was an image he had not allowed himself to indulge in for a very long time and oh, how he yearned for it now.

He had often thought of the Shire at the beginning of course. On those days the homesickness had almost been suffocating and, while he could hardly blame them, it didn't help that the dwarves couldn't stop talking excitedly about the prospect of reclaiming their own homeland while his shrunk into a mere dot on the horizon. Bilbo had been happy for them and sympathetic for their plight, there was no denying that, but even he had been incapable of ignoring the ache in his heart every time his mind drifted back to home.

As time had passed however, he'd learned to put such thoughts behind him and concentrate solely on the task at hand. It would not do to yearn for a place he may never return to in one piece. Besides, though he would rarely admit it, he was starting to enjoy this adventuring business.

So the Shire had eventually been shoved to the back of his mind, emerging only when he desperately needed some sense of comfort or when it was his turn for campfire storytelling. But now he was more than ready to return there and while he had grown fond of the company of dwarves, he knew that he had no place in Erebor. Such a place could never be considered his home.

The return journey would be a long - and most likely dangerous - one. True, Bilbo had had enough in the way of danger these past months to last him a lifetime but there was a rather significant difference in the fact that he felt prepared for it now. He was capable of summoning up some form of foolish bravery in the midst of peril. As a result, the journey ahead did not frighten him one bit. Even as he set out, accompanied by a single pony and the wizened old wizard who'd dragged him along in the first place, he could not bring himself to be wary of what lay ahead. What frightened him more was the thought of what he'd be leaving behind.

It was a silly notion, one he'd scolded himself for often enough. However, as Bilbo finally granted himself one last look back at the mountain he could feel an achingly familiar pain resonate from his chest and there was a thick sense of melancholy polluting the air around him. For, ever since he'd witnessed Dain's crowning, Erebor had felt… incomplete.

Perhaps he was simply being childish. However, for what now felt like a lifetime, it had been Thorin he'd respected as his leader and it was the tales of the line of Durin that he'd become engrossed in on many a cold night by the campfire.

After all, it was Thorin who was supposed to sit on the throne and be named King Under the Mountain. It was Fili who was supposed to succeed him should he fall, and young Kili after that. Bilbo's heart could only clench uncomfortably as he thought of what should have been, in an ideal situation. How he _should_ have experienced overwhelming pride as Erebor was finally reclaimed and the dwarven prince crowned.

Instead, he'd been forced to conceal his tears as he paid a single visit to Thorin's cold tomb, and the tomb of his sister-sons by its side. It was hardly fair, but he knew well enough that he was incapable of altering what had eventually come to pass.

That was what haunted him as he looked upon the Lonely Mountain for what would most likely be the final time. He was glad, of course, that Erebor was in the dwarves' possession once again and that – through sheer dumb luck – he had survived what should have been a suicidal adventure.

However, the Erebor he was leaving behind could never be the one he'd envisioned long ago, on that fateful night where he'd first encountered the party of dwarves with their tales of dragons and adventure. That Erebor would exist only in the imagination and childish tales.

Some days, this knowledge was enough to break his heart.

And while he did take pride in his adventures for many years afterward, that did not stop him from wishing he could go back and have a second chance at it all.


End file.
